1947. World War Two had just come to a close. You would think that with the horrors of the Holocaust coming into the light, America would be the first to step up and say no to racism, correct? We're always preaching equality.

I had no idea that we would be still segregated. Blacks and whites were divided in half. Whites that stood up for blacks were treated nearly as cruelly. There were establishments for both races, always two of everything, never one. Two fountains, the superior one for the whites. Two halves of buses. Black people's orders were refused to be taken at restaurants. And if people staged sit-ins where they refused to move until they received their food, soda, ketchup, and insults would be poured onto them.

"Land of the free, home of the brave." What utter bullshit. But when I look back today, I started to become directly involved in this injustice when my husband started playing Major League Baseball.

It was a sweltering day in early 1947. Men and women were sweating like crazy in their suits that was common fashion to ball games. Casey Acosta, my fiancée, invited me to one of the Brooklyn Dodgers' home games, a team in which he was a member of. Casey had just gone up to bat and had gotten up to second base. The next batter emerged from the dugout.

Everyone started booing and hissing once they realized who stepped up to the plate. Mr. Jackie Robinson, the first black player ever in major league history, was perhaps the most controversial person to date to ever hit in Dodger territory. In case you're wondering, Casey and I are full supporters of the Negro movement, and Casey was one of the few kind players to fully accept Jackie into the team.

Getting him there wasn't easy though. Casey's amazing heart paid the price. Not only was Jackie chastised and booed, but now Casey had to endure that as well solely because he showed support.

Jackie was a fearless player. He ignored every single cutting comment that flew from the Cardinals' dugout. He defied inferiority stereotypes. In fact, he blew them out of the water. But people were blind to everything but the color of his face. If someone were to punch him in the face, and he retaliated, the headline would read, "Negro player can't control temper." I wonder how he hasn't cooked the flesh of the people who patronize him yet. I know I would.

Jackie had remarkable self restraint. He didn't let anything faze him. He wasn't weak not to fight back, but rather the strongest of them all.

"Hey, Negro, you don't belong here. Never will."

The pitcher that was always ready to pick a fight with Jackie narrowed his eyes and glared at him. He then aimed the ball at Jackie, looking to hit him, but Jackie ducked to the ground so the ball narrowly missed. The crowd groaned.

Second pitch. I held my breath. Jackie slammed it toward left field. Casey came in quickly and slid hard across the ground for the winning home run. And the Cardinals' manager was clearly not happy about it. In a rage, he called out contemptuously,

"Hey, Acosta! How does it feel to be a Negro sympathizer?"

"I don't know, Remmy. How does it feel to be a redneck piece of shit?"

Oooooh 10 points for Casey. I smiled to myself. Casey turned around to celebrate the with his teammates.

The next day, the Dodgers started to prepare a game against the New York Giants. I went along with Casey in order to check into the same hotel. Although I couldn't be on the bus with the team, Casey said he still wanted me to be at the game, and would be most comfortable if we were at the same hotel. But that all changed when we arrived to check in.

"Get the hell off my property," the hotel manager spat.

"We've been staying at this hotel for ten years. Are you shitting me when you're saying we can't sleep because we have Jackie with us?" The Dodgers' manager stood adamant, firm. I have so much respect for him.

"Get rid of that colored player or get off this damn land."

Players that hadn't accepted Jackie yet started complaining: "We seriously have to sleep in the bus now" and "this bastard isn't worth it". However, the minority of players (including Casey) stood next to the manager and disregarded the sentences coming from
Jackie's haters. Wordlessly, they ripped up the paper with the reservations, and spun on their heels, and headed back to the bus.

Casey gave me his seat and only blanket to sleep in on the bus and called the floor. But he looked so cold that while he was sleeping I gave him my blanket, knowing that if he was awake he would never take it from me, even if he was frozen. I swore to myself then and there that we would do anything in our power to get Jackie accepted into baseball. And blacks into society. If he can play, he can play. Simple as that.

A/N: This story is inspired from the movie 42, which released in April but I had only gotten around to it recently. I love the concept of the movie and racial justice, and especially how some whites defied the barrier to help blacks. Sorry for all of the swear words, but that's how it was back then.

I couldn't find any time to fit much Cammy into this chapter, mostly because it didn't fit with my introducing the circumstances and tension of the era. Don't worry, there will be plenty of Cammy in the upcoming chapters though, so don't be too disappointed.

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